


haunted

by Anjali_Organna



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, F/M, Grief, Guzman has a lot of feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Nadia has her work cut out for her lbr, Pining, also guzman is the mom friend and no one can tell me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 22:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjali_Organna/pseuds/Anjali_Organna
Summary: Once Guzmán finally understood what was happening to him, he thought he saw Nadia all over the city, even in areas where there was no reason for her to be.[Four times Guzmán tries to ignore Nadia, and one time he doesn't.]





	haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Epigraph is the poem [houses](http://inkskinned.com/post/104632652919/you-find-her-under-your-fingertips-as-if-the-dust) by r.i.d.

_you find her under your fingertips as if the dust of her laughter has settled on top of everything that you own. you find her in your food as if the absence of her taste is a flavor of its own. you find her in the empty nights which stretch out, too quiet and dark and cold. you are a crime scene, closed off, shouts locked into your floorboards. you are an abandoned home._

_your sister tells you, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” you haven’t slept in a week._

_you don’t know how to say, “she haunts me, she haunts me, she haunts me.”_

 

**1.**

In the time Before, once Guzmán finally understood what was happening to him, he thought he saw Nadia all over the city, even in areas where there was no reason for her to be. He’d be walking along, minding his own business, and a flash of fabric over dark hair would catch in the corner of his eye and he’d freeze, his heart rate accelerating. It was never her. But still that split-second of time where his thoughts would arrest and his palms instantly grew clammy always filled him with a bittersweet sense of longing.

It’d been years since he’d had an actual, proper crush, and the last time one was unrequited he’d been twelve and mooning over Penelope Cruz. Although _unrequited_ isn’t accurate: Guzmán knows Nadia feels _something_ for him, too. In a way, her indifference would be easier to deal with, because then there wouldn’t be any hope at all. But this was torture, in the sweetest sense—being around her, knowing that she looked for him, too. Knowing that this was all he was going to get, and finding, strangely enough, that in some ways it _was_ enough for him; if _she_ could accept it, so could he. The small moments day to day where he could make her smile was almost like finding grace.

And because they have had such few moments between them, he found himself looking for her, constantly, even when he knows that she’s out of reach. He couldn’t imagine a time when he’d look for anything—for anyone—else.

*

And then there is After, when all he sees is red, curly hair, rounding a corner or getting into a taxi or entering a building just ahead. The pain this time is different, wholly bitter with no measuring sweetness to balance things out. The family had visited the UK for a holiday, years before, and Guzmán had teased his sister that she’d finally found her people in the highlands of Scotland and she’d thrown a scone at him.

He knows he’ll never go to Scotland again.

It’s been weeks since his world was upended into a Before and an After. Lately he’s stopped noticing his surroundings, preferring to remain cocooned in a shell of obliviousness. He’s not sure what makes him glance up, but there—two women wearing hijabs, walking down the street.He’s only met Nadia’s mother twice so he can’t be sure the older woman is her, but he’s spent an embarrassing amount of time studying Nadia herself. He knows how she carriers herself. Even through the fog of Befores and Afters, Guzmán knows her.

He hasn’t seen her since the dance, Before. She’s texted but he hasn’t responded. For a moment, his heart races, his palms grow damp. Then, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of auburn—

he swings around, trying to track the movement—

a middle-aged woman with bottle-red hair tugging a child along, _nothing_ like—

Guzmán closes his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opens them again, looks back, Nadia is gone.

It’s for the best, really.

 

**2.**

Most of the way through the school break, Ander drops by his house, as he’s been doing with regularity. For once, Lu isn’t there, and it’s just the two of them. They talk about inconsequential things for a while and then Guzmán manages to rouse himself enough to say, jokingly, “It’s such a nice day, I thought you’d be off enjoying it with Omar.”

Ander’s grin is bashful and Guzmán’s struck by how happy his friend looks. He’s surprised when he feels no corresponding flash of jealousy. Ander deserves to be happy, and this is the most normal Guzmán has felt in what seems like centuries.

“Not today, he and his father are doing an inventory of the store.”

“You didn’t want to help?” Guzmán teases. Ander shoots him a look, rolling his eyes. Then he sobers and says, not quite meeting Guzmán’s eyes, “Actually, I, uh—”

“Yes?” Guzmán asks, still amused. “Spit it out.”

“Nadia wanted me to ask you—if you were upset with her?” He glances quickly at Guzman and then back to the floor. Guzmán’s good mood vanishes. “I guess she’s texted you, but—”

“Don’t,” Guzmán snaps, jumping up from the couch. His stomach cramps painfully.

“But—”

“ _Leave_ it, Ander.”

 

**3.**

The first day back at school is torture. He sees Marina everywhere he looks, standing by her locker, lounging on a chair, slouched over a table in the library. Ander is a solid, reassuring presence at his side. Polo’s skittish, can’t meet his eyes, but that is nothing new—he’s taken the breakup with Carla badly and has been like this all break. Being back at school seems to have made it worse. Part of Guzmán wants to shout at him— _So what? At least she’s still_ alive _, you bastard_ —but most of him can’t muster up the energy to care.

Lu is there, like she always is, and he doesn’t have to look to know that she’s directing _fuck you_ glares to anyone who even thinks to move in his direction. Samuel has the sense to stay away from him, so that’s one less person Guzmán needs to eviscerate, and he doesn’t see Christian at all.

He has done a creditable job of looking through everyone so far; it’s impressive, really, the lengths he can go to ignore everything around him. So it’s with a distinct sense of dismay when against his will his eyes actually focus on a flash of color at the end of the hallway. Pink. Familiar.

Guzmán abruptly turns, pushes Lu into the wall, and kisses her deeply. It takes her just a beat before she’s responding enthusiastically, winding her arms around his neck. Guzmán keeps his eyes closed, shoving down the revulsion that rises in his gut, silently hating himself. Luckily, he’s always been a good performer.

When they finally surface to the amused clapping of their classmates, the pink is gone.

 

**4.**

He maintains tunnel vision for a week. He becomes an expert at ducking around corners and jumping into the bathroom. He practices selective hearing. He uses Lu like a human shield, which she is only too happy to do, even if he knows she’s suspicious why. But Luhas classes of her own to attend and she can’t be expected to stick by him all the time, no matter what she herself might want.

When Nadia finally tracks him down, he’s in an empty classroom, pretending to get a head start on his physics but really just staring down blankly at the textbook, trying not to think of much anything at all.

“Guzmán?”

He stills. His heartbeat accelerates. Her footsteps sound tentatively across the floor and stop just inside his line of vision.

“Guzmán, can we talk? Just for a moment?”

He doesn’t look up. The toe of her right shoe is scuffed just the slightest. She says, her voice unsteady, “I’m sorry—I know you don’t want to be…to be friends anymore. I just wanted to see how…how you are doing.”

Guzmán flushes. He didn’t know it was possible to feel elated and anguished at the same time. It’s been months since he’s looked at her fully and yet he can feel her presence like a tangible thing, prickling along his nerve endings and electrifying his skin. He had no idea he was even capable of the supreme act of willpower it requires not to look directly at her.

“Guzmán, please.”

He swallows, wipes his hands on his pants, and stands, gathering up his books while keeping his head resolutely down. Nadia steps back as he moves past her, out the door.

It’s the first time in months that he’s been able to sustain any major emotion outside of grief for his sister for longer than a heartbeat. He’s wretched with the knowledge that this rejection of Nadia feels just as awful. It feels like a betrayal of Marina to want something nearly as much as he wants for her to be alive again.

Guzmán barely manages to make it to the toilets before he is violently, desperately sick. At least _this_ feels appropriate.

 

**5.**

He manages another month until he finally breaks. Later, he won’t be able to say just what about this particular day sets him off. Most likely it’s an accumulation of things: the deadening, soul-crushing silence in his own house, day after day; the unremitting need to be impassive, to show the world nothing of his true emotions; the rage he feels every time he sees Samuel and his mind flashes to Samuel’s brother. He looks up and glimpses Lu, talking to Carla and coming down the hallway towards him, and panic claws up his chest. If he has to pretend to be fine for another moment more, he is going to hit someone and he isn’t sure he’ll be able to stop.

Guzmán spins on his heel and flees. He’s only gone a few yards when he sees her, and she sees him. And this is just one more thing: pretending he doesn’t notice the hurt on Nadia’s face every time she catches sight of him. They stare at each other for a beat, for a lifetime. Then her face changes, creases with concern, and Guzmán turns tail and flat out _runs_.

*

She follows him, of course. He’s huddled in the corner of the boy’s locker room, hyperventilating. “Put your head down—breathe,” she says, hands gentle on his shoulders as she levers him up and directs his head between his knees. “In and out, it’s okay.” Guzmán follows her directions, concentrates on taking deep breaths, concentrates on the feeling of her fingers in the hair at his nape.

Eventually, his breathing slows. She’s kneeling by his side, one arm around his shoulder, and Guzmán turns blindly into the crook of her neck. Her other arm goes around him, solid and warm, and he takes one more shuddering breath in before the weight of the last few month hits him all at once. And then he’s weeping, uncontrollably, clutching at Nadia’s midsection like she’s the last remaining lifeline he has left. Maybe she is.

*

When he comes back to himself, they’re still curled up on the floor of the locker room, wrapped around each other. She’s stroking her fingers through his hair, rocking him gently back and forth. He draws back a little, enough to see her face. With a thumb she gently wipes away tears from his cheeks. He looks down at her shirt, dismayed. “Oh,” he croaks, “I’m sorry—”

She shushes him, shaking her head.

Guzmán feels hollowed out. His ears are ringing and his sinuses are completely stuffed up. He’s sure he must look like death, but Nadia gazes at him calmly, unmoving. She’s even more beautiful than he remembered and it finally occurs to him that his honor is not more important than ensuring that she knows what she means to him.

“Nadia,” he says horsely. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

She blinks at him. “Guzmán…”

“No,” he continues, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I was trying to protect you. I owed you back your future.”

Nadia blinks some more. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about?”

“I promised your father that I’d stay away from you, if it meant you could come back. And I know how important your future is to you, and you deserve it. You can do anything you want, you deserve to be here. I promised him and I was _trying_ , I keep my word, but seeing you every day, seeing how much I was hurting you—”

“Guzmán,” she interrupts, pulling away from him, “what do you mean, you promised my father?”

As he explains, a furrow draws itself across her forehead and she looks away from him, her lips thinning.

“ _This_ is why you haven’t been speaking to me?”

“Yes,” he says miserably.

She extricates herself from him entirely, rising to her feet. Guzmán remains on the floor, staring down at his knees.

“You,” she starts and he glances up. She’s got her her hands on her hips, frowning down at him. “I’m not Marina, Guzmán,” she says, her voice quiet but forceful. “I don’t need you to save me from my life or my family or whatever it is you think I need saving from.”

“I wasn’t trying—”

“Of course you were, this is what you _do_. You did it to your sister, you do it to your friends.” Nadia kneels back down in front of him so her eyes are level with his. “I convinced my father to let me come back, with _no_ restrictions. He agreed. _I_ did that. I don’t need you to manage my life. It might not be the way you’d do it or the speed at which you’d do it, but it’s my choice, _mine_.”

Guzmán looks away, abashed. Nadia slips her hand underneath his chin, drawing him back. Her eyes soften as she studies him. “I appreciate what you tried to do for me, though. Truly.” With her free hand, she cards her fingers back through his hair and he leans into her touch, closing his eyes.

“Oh! Sorry, I—”

Guzmán’s eyes snap open. A younger boy stands frozen in the doorway. “ _Get out,_ ” he snarls, and the boy’s face goes white before he darts out again. Nadia’s jerked back, her hands drawn close to her chest, before she laughs shortly. “I think he’s going to have nightmares,” she says dryly as she stands up again.

“Fucking prick,” Guzmán mutters, scrubbing his face. Nadia offers him a hand and he allows her to tug him to his feet. “I _am_ in the boy’s locker room,” she points out. Guzmán doesn’t want to think about the stupid boy anymore. He leans toward her slightly and then hesitates, not wanting to impose himself on her. She smiles gently at him, sliding her arms around his neck, and Guzmán steps into her embrace, exhaling slowly.

“I am still upset with you,” she says into his shoulder.

“I know,” he says.

There’s still so much he has to figure out. How to exist without his sister. How to navigate the broken silences of his family, how to fix the instability of a single Polo, how to let Lu down without hurting her even further, and Nadia, Nadia, Nadia. How to be the person she deserves. How to be the person he wanted to be. How to be the person Marina would have been proud to call _brother_.

“We should go to class,” Nadia says, her arms still wrapped around him.

Guzmán tightens his grip on her. “Not yet.”

“All right,” she says.

**


End file.
